Crustaceans in my undershorts.
I am just down on myself today. I didn't do any writing on any scripts this weekend, and I haven't been doing any movie development at all for weeks.
Part of the whole thing for staying down here was so I could write, and I'm not doing it. I'm avoiding it.
I feel uninspired. I wanted to crawl into the darkness and try and get inspiration for a horror movie, and I did get some, but noting is jumping out at me with the excitement and passion that I feel like I need. The closest thing I came to was "This Old Man", which is a pretty corny horror story along the likes of Jeepers Creepers or Friday the 13th. Nothing new there.
I have better ideas already. I need to work on them, to get writing the actual screenplays. Six Days is pretty much complete in story (at least in the short-film version), and is probably my best bet for something manageable on an ultra-low budget. There are a few details to work out yet about the order of events, and I should work those out with one good sit-down session.
And I haven't done it.
I could have made a corpse this weekend, like I planned to do. Instead, I got part of one skull painted.
I could have tried to make some friends this weekend, like for instance the rather attractive woman who I spent a few hours in the hot tub with on Monday. Instead, I read my book and didn't talk to her.
Coulda, woulda, shoulda.
I've been spending far too much time being maudlin about woman-thing. I've spent far too much time obsessing over being lonely. I've watched too much crap TV and spent long hours surfing the web and being a voyeur-at-random on livejournal.
Ennui. A vague feeling of dissatisfaction kind of permeates my psyche.
I don't know where I want to go anymore. I don't know what I want to do. I have a general direction, but it's not clear enough to form a really good picture in my head of where I want to be.
The future is muddy and complex.
My brain feels like the inside of a television tuned to a dead channel. It's all noise and scatter, no focus.
I saw a flock of tiny birds yesterday. Hundreds of them, possibly a thousand, all sitting in the grass alongside the road eating something. Whenever one of them would get spooked, he'd fly and the rest of them would take off in a cloud that had this shape to it-- organic, like some sort of creature that lived and breathed on its own. It was mesmerizing.
I think they may have been eating cicadas, because they are out this year in force. Walking through the woods there are so many of them that it becomes difficult to hear anything for the noise. I saw one yesterday on the sidewalk. They are ugly creatures, though I suppose that they are beautiful in their own way.
Not sure what way that is exactly.
I want to hide away.